The Song of Sun and Moon
by Vahnya
Summary: Eyra and Jon are twins. They are the bastard twins of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Both Eyra and Jon have crucial parts to play when winter comes, and war and trouble comes with it. Eyra has mysterious powers along with mysterious looks, and the question of her and Jon's parentage is vital. Then comes Jaime Lannister along. What vital part will he play in her life? Jaime/OC
1. Chapter 1

The sky was grey and gloomy, the air crisp and cold. After a long, warm summer, the north was ready to succumb to the inevitable autumn at last. This summer past had been the longest summer known to man. And there was talk amongst the northerners that only an even longer winter could follow. And every northerner knew that winter was the true test of man. It was ruthless and harsh, and only the strongest survived.

" _Winter is coming_ ," Eyra muttered to herself as she stared out onto the grounds of Winterfell from her window. The Stark words seemed more worrisome and more relevant than ever before. Having been born during the long summer, she had never seen winter, but she had heard tales of its ruthlessness.

Her bedchamber was cold, as the air outside. No one had bothered lighting a flame in the fireplace that morning. She normally did it herself, but since she rarely spent much time in the room, it seemed rather pointless to make one. It would only sizzle out and die before she came back, and the room would be cold once more. Better to just wrap herself up in wool.

A shiver ran up her spine and she pulled her sheeps skin tighter around her body with a frown. She could not decide whether the shiver was a result of the cold, or the precautionary words of House Stark. _Winter is coming…_ The words kept echoing in her mind like an ominous warning.

From her window high up in the tower, Eyra spotted a party of riders coming down the Kingsroad towards the castle. Her father and brothers were returning home. They had set out earlier that day to confront a deserter of the Night's Watch found upon their lands. Her father had brought the youngest, Bran, to experience his first execution. Everyone knew that Eddard Stark was not overly fond of passing death sentences, but he was an honourable man bound by the law. And deserting the Night's Watch was a serious crime, and therefore had to be punished as such.

 _"_ _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,"_ her father would always say to them. It was like a second mantra of sorts. He never had another man do the dirty work for him, as so many other lords did. It was not in his nature. Eyra had always admired her father's reputable character, but she sometimes worried that it might some day be his downfall.

Feeling anxious to hear the outcome of their expedition, Eyra left the window and raced down the stairs to greet them out in the courtyard. She could only hope that little Bran had faired well. He was so young in her eyes, and such a sensitive, sweet boy. She loved him dearly, as she did all of her siblings. Still, young or not, he was a Stark, and there were responsibilities and expectations to uphold.

Eyra situated herself by the stables and waited. As the horses and their riders came through the gates of the castle, she noted with curiosity that they carried passengers that they had not set out with. Jon, Robb and Bran all carried in the crook of their elbow what looked like a bundle of fur. When they came closer, she realised that the bundle they carried was in fact puppies. They let out little whines and whimpers now and then, stressed out by their strange, new surroundings.

"What is this?" Eyra turned to her father and gestured towards the pup in his arms as he stopped his dark stallion in front of her and dismounted.

Ned handed the little wolf over to her. "We found them on the side of the road. Their mother is dead."

Eyra looked down at the pup in her arms. It was pitch black, like the darkest night itself, with fiery amber eyes, not at all usual for a wolf. Upon closer inspection of the animal, she noted something extraordinary and gasped as her head whipped up to gaze at her father in bewilderment.

"A _direwolf?_ "

Her father nodded sombrely.

Eyra let her gaze fall back down to the pup in her arms, eyes round with awe. Even though the direwolf was the sigil of House Stark, seeing one of them south of the wall was almost unheard of.

She tentatively stroked her hand over the pup's head. "How is this possible?" She asked her father.

Her father seemed troubled for a minute, as he turned away from her to gaze into the distance. "Winter is coming," he said, his voice glum and serious. Then he seemed to shake out of his dark reverie and turned back to his steed to relieve the saddle. "I will tell you, as I told your brothers. You will take care of the pup yourself, without the help of the servants. Otherwise, they go."

Eyra beamed at him. "We can keep them?!" Then, seeing the stern look on her father's face, she nodded gravely. "Yes, sir. Understood. Loud and clear." But then, unable to contain her excitement, she looked up at him with a huge grin, grey eyes sparkling with merriment. "Thank you, father!"

He offered her a soft smile that didn't quite eradicate the worry in his eyes. "That's my girl," he said and stroked her cheek. Then he turned to his men, giving orders to settle the horses for the night, and Eyra knew she was dismissed.

Seeing her twin across the yard, holding his own little pup, she quickly made her way over. Jon too seemed rather awestruck with his new charge, as he stood completely still, stroking the fur of his pup.

Eyra snorted as she regarded the appearance of their respectable pets. Jon's wolf was white as snow, with glowing red eyes. The exact opposite of her own. "This is getting ridiculous," she said and shook her head. It was a running joke amongst their family, and indeed everyone in their acquaintance. Even though the two of them were twins, everything about them seemed destined to be opposed. People wryly referred to them as the Sun and Moon Twins.

Jon's hair was dark, almost black, his cold, grey eyes narrow and mysterious. He had the long face with a square jaw and thin lips, and sported the tall, lean build, all of which were characteristics of the Starks. Eyra on the other hand, was born with silvery blonde hair that was almost unheard of in the north, and although her eyes too were grey, they were of a warmer sort than his. As opposed to him, she had a heart-shaped face with full lips and big, expressive eyes that always seemed to hold a blazing fire within them. She was of average height and had more of a rounded figure.

Twins indeed...

Jon lifted his head and smirked at her as his gaze flickered over Eyra's dark pup. "Aye," he agreed. "The Gods must have a sense of humour."

"Clearly.." She rolled her eyes and shifted her pup more comfortably in her arms. "What will you name him?"

He shrugged. "I was thinking of naming him Ghost."

Eyra regarded the white wolfling and smiled. "It suits him."

"And you?"

She gazed down at her little black pup and bit her lip pensively. "I was thinking of Velvet," she replied after a short while. "What do you think?"

Jon gave a half shrug. "It's very fitting."

They both let their pup's down to the ground to let them play together as they made their way towards the castle. Eyra turned her attention from the wolves and regarded her twin curiously. Even though he hadn't said anything, she knew that something was bothering him. She always knew. "What's happened?" She asked.

He raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Happened?"

She huffed at his evasiveness. "I can tell something is bothering you," she affirmed. "What happened out there?"

He shifted his gaze from her and stared morosely out into the air in front of him, looking very troubled.

"The man," he said slowly. "The deserter. He said some things…"

Her eyebrows shot into the air. That was certainly not what she expected. "What things?"

Jon pursed his lips and shook his head. "Father said it was nothing…"

"What things, Jon?" She pressed, knowing that it would only tear away at him if he did not speak of it.

"He said that he'd seen them." Jon hesitated for a moment, letting the silence fill the air. "That he'd seen _The White Walkers_. North of the wall."

Eyra's eyes widened in surprise. "The White Walkers?" Her voice was disbelieving as she stared at him. "But… That's just a myth… A story, right?"

"I don't know." he replied uncertainly. "Many people firmly believe it to be true. Myths rarely spring out of nothing."

Eyra stared ahead as thoughts ran wild in her head. The White Walkers… The ice creatures from beyond the wall… They were naught but the villains in scary bedtime stories they had been told by Old Nan, weren't they? The stories had certainly scared her enough as a child, but growing up, she had come to understand that they were only in fact a legend, and nothing to be worried about.

"And father," Jon continued, perturbed. "He didn't say that they weren't real… That it was just a story." He fixed Eyra with a serious frown. "He said that they'd been _gone for centuries._ "

"Alright," Eyra mused slowly, forcing a casual tone. "Let us say that the man spoke true, that he did indeed see a White Walker… That they do still exist…" She gave Jon a look that she hoped portrayed confident nonchalance. "But how can it affect us? They are beyond the wall. The wall was built to protect us"

Jon shook his head slightly. "I don't know, Eyra. I just have a bad feeling." He pressed his lips together. "It's probably nothing, like father said." But then he continued to say something that sent an ominous chill down her spine for the second time that day, leaving her with a very uneasy feeling herself.

"But winter is coming…"

The next morning was less gloomy, thank the lords. Eyra woke to a bright sun shining from a blue sky, and the crisp air promised a beautiful day ahead. The grim unease she had gone to bed with the night before had vanished along with the first light of dawn. With a spring in her step, she set about getting herself ready for the day, with her wolf pup running eagerly along her feet.

"You must be famished, little lady." She bent down to scratch the pup lovingly behind the ears. The wolf clawed at her legs with its little paws, whining softly. "I know," she cooed. "Let us go find you something to eat."

They headed down the stairs together, and after sneaking some raw meat from the kitchen to feed to her charge, she entered the Hall and found the rest of the family waiting for her. It was quiet in the room, and the mood was charged. Ned Stark and his wife sat at the head of the table looking solemn.

"Eyra, please sit down." Her father's voice was low and serious. "We have something to tell you." He shared a glum look with his wife.

Eyra found her usual seat next to Jon and greeted him with a question in her eye. He merely shook his head with subtle shrug of his shoulders, so she settled down and gazed up at her father expectantly.

"Last night we had a raven bringing news from King's Landing," Eddard Stark announced with sorrow colouring his voice. "Lord Arryn is dead."

A small gasp escaped Eyra's mouth and she saw the same shock reflected on all the other faces around the table, except for Bran and Arya, who were too young to understand the significance. Jon Arryn, her father's old mentor and Hand of the King… _dead…_ She couldn't believe it.

"How?" Robb asked the question that was weighing on everybody's mind. "What happened?"

Ned hesitated for a brief second. "We do not know," he replied. But Eyra did not miss the loaded glance he shared with his wife, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering what they were keeping from them.

"And furthermore," her father continued. "King Robert has sent a raven informing us that he and much of his royal court is headed for Winterfell at this very moment."

The three youngest siblings let out cheers of excitement, but the three older remained grim as they shared knowing looks across the table. There could only be one reason for The King to make such a journey personally, and with half his followers nonetheless. He meant to ask their father to be the new Hand. And that meant Ned would have to leave Winterfell for good. Eyra pressed her lips together to keep from cursing out loud.


	2. Chapter 2

**Woo, here we go! A bit of a long chapter to kick things off (hopefully!). Please let me know what you think, and any constructive criticism is always appreciated! x**

After the bad news delivered at the breakfast table, no one was particularly hungry anymore, and they all soon dispersed to go about their daily activities. No one knew what to say. There really wasn't much _to_ say. The King was on his way, no way of avoiding that. And when he arrived, no one could stop him from making his request to Ned Stark. Their father would no doubt try to gently refuse the request, claiming that his place was in the north, but they all knew that whenever Robert Baratheon set his eyes on something, he would have it. He was, after all, the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Therefore, most likely, within a month or two, their father would be on his way to King's Landing on a permanent mission.

As for the future for the children, Eyra could only speculate. The final decision lay in the hands of Lord Stark and his wife, and Eyra doubted very much that they would give the children any say in the matter. Of course, someone would have to take over Ned Stark's duties as Lord of Winterfell. The choice, naturally, would fall to Robb, as he was the eldest. And Lady Catelyn would no doubt remain behind to guide him, along with Maester Luwin.

Perhaps their father would take the girls with him to King's Landing. For the furthering of their education and a chance to find a suitable husband. There was no better place for that than in the capitol. Their mother would not like the idea of letting her daughters out of her sight, Eyra was sure of it. Lady Stark may have had her share of faults, but she loved her children something fierce. However, despite Lady Stark's wishes, sending the girls to King's Landing was the most logical choice. Bran and Rickon would likely remain, to continue _their_ education as the potential heirs to Winterfell, should something befall their brother, Robb.

Herself and Jon, however…

Eyra had no idea what would happen to them. It was no secret that Catelyn Stark despised them. She had ever since they were brought back to Winterfell after Robert's Rebellion. As a woman, Eyra could be persuaded to understand the sentiment. After all, what wife would take kindly to her husband's bastard children. _A kind one,_ a traitorous voice whispered in Eyra's mind. Perhaps. Perhaps another woman might have learned to love them as her own children. But Lady Stark could not. _Would_ not. If Catelyn Stark had her way, Eyra and Jon would probably have been shipped off to Braavos, never to return. Eyra supposed it wouldn't be too bad. As long as she had her brother by her side, she liked to think she could tackle anything. But she would sorely miss Winterfell, and her siblings, and her father.

Winterfell was her home. She had never known anything else. Hell, she had barely set foot outside of the courtyard! Of course, as a man, Jon could do whatever he wanted. He could become a sellsword if he so chose. He could fight in battles, earn a name for himself, and perhaps even secure some land of his own. Perhaps even a title. He could marry whomever he wanted and live exactly the life he wanted. Because he was a man.

As a woman, and not a woman of noble birth, Eyra did not have as many options. There really weren't many alternatives of employment for women. It was either the whorehouse, a serving wench, or a handmaid. Being a handmaid might not be so bad, but Eyra honestly could not imagine herself walking quietly behind some snobby lady for the rest of her life. Taking orders and serving. No, it would not suit her at all. Her only other option was to marry, and marry well. She hated that. Hated the idea of being dependent on a husband for the rest of her life. To do his bids and graces. No.

Perhaps she would be better off shipped off to Braavos. At least across the sea, they didn't have such limited, conservative views on females. Indeed, she had read many stories of female warriors, celebrated as equals to men. That would suit her better, she decided.

Besides the sudden rush to have everything prepared for the King's arrival, nothing out of the ordinary happened for the next few weeks. Of course, Eyra was worried. Very worried indeed, as she knew not what the future would hold for any of them. She had seen the same worry on her twin's furrowed brows, but he refused to talk about it. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell also kept their lips tightly sealed. Therefore, Eyra spent most of her time with her pup to distract herself. After some consideration, she had decided to call her wolf Cinder. It seemed like a fitting name, considering her pup did look slightly like a lump of coal with her black fur, while her amber eyes paid elephant to the flames of fire. So Cinder it was to be.

Jon had stuck to the name Ghost for his pup, which was rather perfect, Eyra thought. She hadn't really seen him much since they had the raven from King's Landing. He was behaving odd and she was fairly certain he was avoiding her. She had tried to confront him several times, but to no avail. He just insisted that nothing was amiss. That she was being silly.

 _Silly,_ she humphed to herself. As if she didn't know him better than anyone. They were two halves of a whole after all. She knew he had the same concerns as her, and she also knew he was up to something. But Jon Snow could be infuriatingly stubborn once he put his mind to something, and he had clearly decided not to let her in on his plans. And for once in her life, she had no idea what he was thinking, and the thought was somewhat frightening. She felt almost as if she was losing him already.

Also, that sinking feeling in her stomach still hadn't resided. Eyra was very worried indeed.

On the morning of their guests' expected arrival, Eyra stood in the stables brushing down her steed, as she so often did when she was troubled. It never failed to calm her down, but on this particular day it didn't quite have its desire effect.

"Eyra, come on!"

She was shaken out of her gloomy thoughts as she glanced down to find her younger sister, Arya, standing by her side pulling impatiently on her sleeve.

" _Come on_!" She nagged. "Jon and Robb have snuck off to train and I wanna watch!"

A fond smile spread across Eyra's face. She loved her little sister dearly. Arya was such a wild one. Always rugged and ready to fight. Eyra imagined that if she were allowed, Arya would train as hard as any of the boys, perhaps even harder, to become a proficient swordsman. Or rather… swordswoman.

After another violent tug on her sleeve, which threatened to break the fabric, Eyra finally relented. "Alright, alright," she said with a small huff. "Let's go."

Together they made their way to a clearing in the Wolfswood. It had become their sanctuary of sorts, as it was quite secluded and rarely visited by anyone else. Normally, the boys trained in the courtyard at Winterfell, but more often than not, they would sneak out to the clearing to put in extra practice, away from the careful eyes of their masters. Eyra had also, somehow, managed to convince her brothers to teach her to master the sword, and such activities definitely warranted sneaking off. If Catelyn Stark found out what they were up to, they would be in big trouble indeed. She was always looking to find something to punish the twins for. Their father may have been more lenient, but the fact of the matter was that _a proper lady should not swing a sword._ She could practically hear Lady Stark's strict voice speaking the words. But theoretically, Eyra smirked to herself, she was no lady. She was, and always would be, a bastard.

Herself and Arya seated themselves on the ground at the edge of the clearing, leaning their backs against a massive fallen tree and made themselves comfortable. Even though it had promised to be a lovely day just a few hours ago, grey clouds had swiftly come in with the western wind and now bathed the landscape in a gloomy darkness. Rather fitting, Eyra thought, as none of them really looked forward to the prospect of the King's arrival.

The trees surrounding the clearing stood close, tightly grasping at each others roots, fighting for dominance. The thickness of the forest around them created an eerie silence within the clearing, a silence that was only broken by the sharp clangs of swords clashing together, along with the grunts of effort by their masters.

Together, the two sisters observed as Robb, with his stocky build and substantial force, fought against his leaner and more agile half-brother, struggling slightly to keep up with the swiftness of Jon's attacks.

"He's overstepping," Arya commented quietly as she studied her auburn haired brother.

Eyra's lips curved into a fond smile at her younger sister's assertiveness, immediately understanding which one she was talking about. She had observed the same. For such a young one, her little sister really was quite perceptive. And she had a very good understanding of swordplay.

She nodded concededly. "He's overcompensating," she added as they continued their analysis of the brothers. "Jon is quicker… More lithe."

They both admired the fluidity and gracefulness with which the latter handled his sword. Jon had always been just a little more proficient than Robb at swordplay, even from a young age, despite them having had the same training. Even though Robb had the advantage of being big and strong, and therefore intimidated his opposers, Jon's agility was definitely the higher advantage in battle.

And sure enough, true to their reflection, just a few minutes later Robb was swiftly disarmed by his adversary, sending him sprawling to the ground and the sparring match effectively came to an end.

Robb shook his head in defeat, but grinned, not at all perturbed by his loss. He immediately accepted the other boy's extended hand and let Jon pull him back on his feet.

"One day I _will_ best you, brother." He gave the other boy an affectionate bump in the shoulder. "Mark my words."

Jon grinned back. "I have no doubt that you will, brother."

"So, what do you think, ladies?" Robb turned and approached his sisters with arms spread wide, eager to hear the verdict.

Arya grimaced at the title. "I'm _not_ a Lady!" She protested and scowled.

They all chuckled at her aggressiveness, and Robb patted her gently on the head, sending her already wild hair into further disarray. "Sure thing, Lady Arya."

She grumbled and pushed his hand away. "You were overstepping," she informed him bluntly, not having any of his teasing. He blinked down at his little sister, then raised his eyebrows and looked over at Eyra for affirmation.

"Eyra?"

She shrugged with an apologetic grimace. "You were overstepping," she confirmed.

Robb sighed in frustration, but his face quickly morphed into a cheeky grin again. "Nah," he said. "It was just your hair that distracted me." He gestured fervently to Eyra's head. "It blinded me in the sunlight!"

Eyra snorted at that. "Right," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "In the sunlight…" They all sniggered as they regarded the grey sky above them.

Eyra's hair had spurred talk and speculation from the day it began to grow. Some people speculated that she had been cursed by the Gods. That she was an abomination of some sort. Or that she had seen something, some ghost or wraith that had struck such a fright in her as a child that her hair had withered. The bravest even speculated about the true identity of her mother, saying that such hair could only come from someone of House Targaryen, infamous for their silver blonde hair. But the idea was absurd. Her and Jon had been conceived when their father had ridden to war _against_ House Targaryen, and since it was already so unfathomable that their stoic and honourable father would have been unfaithful to his wife in the first place, the idea that he should have been unfaithful with a member of his sworn enemy was just inconceivable. No one who knew Eddard Stark would ever entertain the idea.

When she grew older and understood all the conjecture that her hair provoked, her siblings soon took it upon themselves to make jokes about it, to make her feel better. And it did make her feel better, for a while. But she often wondered _why_ her hair was so unusual. Whilst the rest of her family sported either the dark brown locks of House Stark from their father, or the auburn of their mother, she had come into the world with hair white as snow. She stood out like a sore thumb in her family.

Of course, there was no wonder that she had not inherited the auburn hair that Robb, Sansa, Bran and Rickon were blessed with. They had acquired from their mother, Catelyn. Eyra and Jon never knew their mother, and their father refused to talk about her. But for some reason, her twin brother had inherited the dark brown hair typical of House Stark, while she had not.

Eyra shook her head to clear her thoughts. There was no use dwelling on it. Her father had made it clear that he had no intention of divulging anything about their mother as of yet. At least she carried the same dark grey eyes as her twin, which asserted that she was in fact half a Stark. People could gossip about her as much as they wanted until the end of time, there was nothing she could do about it, except keep her head high and her chin up. As she intended.

Her musings were cut short by the shrill cry of her younger sister. "Now it's my turn, Jon!" she commanded and tried to grab at his sword. "Teach me to fight!"

Jon chuckled as he too ruffled Arya's hair affectionately. "I don't think so, little one," he replied wistfully. "Your mother would have my head."

He gave Eyra a subtle look over the young girl's head, and she offered a small grimace in return. It was all in jest, of course, but they both knew that Catelyn Stark tolerated them in her home only because her husband demanded it. She had always treated them with a frigid politeness that was unmistakable. They had tried their very best to make her approve of them, but to no avail. She was as stubborn as the most gritty northerners.

"We better return home anyway," Eyra stepped in to rescue her twin from their sister's imploring eyes, knowing her brother's soft spot for the girl. "The King will be arriving any time now, and Lady Stark would have _all_ our heads if we were late for that." She gave her younger sister a pointed look.

"True," Robb affirmed with a smirk. Their mother was not to be messed with.

"Ugh," Arya groaned and scowled. She detested dinners and feasts and guests. Her mother and Sansa would always nag at her to try to behave more ladylike. There really was nothing ladylike about Arya. Hell, she was more boyish and unrefined than Bran.

"Come on, squirt," Eyra linked arms with her younger sister. "The sooner we greet the guests, the sooner we can go about our business again!"

Robb snorted. "Not likely," he said as he went back to retrieve his sword from the ground. "We'll be expected to attend the feast and entertain the guests." He sheathed his sword securely in his waistband.

" _We_ won't," Jon shot back with a bite to his tone as he gestured towards himself and his sister. Being bastards, they were not considered officially part of the family, and therefore it would be considered offensive if they were seated with the family at the feast. Eyra bit her lip anxiously as she regarded her twin. He had always been very bothered by his bastard status, feeling somewhat lesser than his other siblings, despite them not considering it so.

"No," Robb replied, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "I suppose you won't."

"Lucky!" Arya grumbled as she stubbed her toe into the grovel, sending dirt flying, and prompting a grin to break out on all of their faces. Arya's reluctance to be a _lady_ was a constant source of amusement to all of them, except Sansa of course, who was horrified by her younger sister's vulgar and unrefined manners.

"Let's go" Eyra stood up and brushed off the skirt of her dress. "We better go check on the pups before they arrive."

While the Stark children went into the castle to don their best clothes and ready themselves for the grand guests, as their mother had commanded, Eyra and Jon went to the stables to check on the pups. The wolves, naturally, would not be allowed to make an appearance at the feast, so they needed to make sure they were secured there, lest they sneak off to startle any of the guests. Most people were very wary of the direwolf. And with good reason.

"Eyra."

Eyra looked up, startled, and immediately straightened up when she noticed Lady Stark standing in the doorway looking as intimidating as always. The Lady of Winterfell had donned one of her best dresses, a beautiful dark blue gown that brought out her cerulean eyes and contrasted handsomely with her fiery, auburn hair. She was ready to greet their guests.

Eyra grimaced as she briefly glanced down at her own plain gown. "Lady Stark," she greeted her stepmother with a small curtsy.

"Come with me, please" the lady commanded in a voice that brooked no argument.

Eyra's brows snapped together in confusion, and she shared a brief look with her twin, who raised his own eyebrows questioningly. She shrugged and made a face, having no idea what crime she had committed this time. She set after the lady obediently, leaving her brother to tend to the wolves.

Following Catelyn into the castle and up the stairs, they made their way to Lady Stark's own bedchambers. She rarely used it, it was more of a storage room, as her and Ned Stark shared his bedchambers. Eyra glanced around the room curiously, having never been inside before. To her great astonishment, there was nothing remarkably different from her own chambers, apart from it being larger in size and housing a bigger bed. She had always imagined that Lady Stark would have something to distinguish herself as a noble born, in some form, though she couldn't imagine what that would be.

"I have brought out a dress for you to wear tonight," Catelyn said as she stopped in front of her bed and gestured towards a lovely gown that was laid out on top of the bedding. "For you to look your best for the guests."

Eyra's eyes widened and she blinked. "For me?" She regarded the older lady in bewilderment. Catelyn Stark had never voluntarily given her anything in life, and she could think of no solid reason why she should start now. To her great surprise, Eyra could have sworn she saw the lady's eyes soften a bit from the usual icy stare she reserved for the twins. Surely, the world was coming to an end?

"The dress is too slim now for myself, it was from my younger days," the lady explained. "And the colours would not compliment Sansa."

Eyra blinked, trying to find some ulterior motive in the other woman's words, but she could not find any. "Uhm… Thank you, my lady…" Her voice trailed off. She had no idea what else to say.

Lady Stark nodded sharply and picked the dress up from her bed. "You best run along and get dressed. It won't be long before they arrive."

Eyra nodded dazedly as she accepted the dress from the older woman.

"And I'll have Rosemary come to your chambers to arrange your hair," Catelyn added with finality, and Eyra recognised a dismissal when she hear one.

As she walked out of the room, Eyra turned her head briefly to glance back at Lady Stark in wonder. She had no idea what had just happened, and wondered whether she should be worried or not. As much as she would wish it, it was highly unlikely that Lady Stark was merely doing her a kindness. It certainly had never occurred before. No, there had to be some underlying motive, and if there was, Eyra was not entirely sure that she would like it.

In her room, she grabbed a cloth and dipped it into the washstand, and promptly set about washing her face and hands. She always seemed to get herself grimy somehow. After brushing out her hair, she slipped the new dress over her head. Stepping over to the mirror situated in the corner (she rarely ever used it), she studied her reflection with her head cocked to the side. The dress was lovely, there was no doubt about it. It was a beautiful maroon colour, with gold threaded hems along the bottom of the skirt and the bosom. To match the hems came a loose vest in an amber colour, that clasped at her waist to frame her curved figure nicely. It was such a well fit, Eyra thought to herself, that it might as well have been made for her.

Strange, she thought to herself. The colour would not have complimented Sansa's fiery locks, that much was true. But come to think of it, if the dress did not compliment Sansa's features, then it certainly would not have complimented Lady Stark's either. Not now, nor in her youth. How strange that she should have such a dress, that looked as if it had been made for Eyra. It did bring out the warm ember tones in her otherwise grey eyes. It made her whole complexion warmer somehow, despite her pale skin and white hair.

So, perhaps the dress had been made specifically with Eyra in mind. But why? She had to admit, she looked well. She rarely ever paid heed to what she looked like. In fact, she was very often admonished for not putting more effort into her appearance. _After all_ , as Lady Stark would say, _you'll want to find a husband some day._

Her eyes widened sharply as Lady Stark's words echoed in her head. _Of course_ , she groaned to herself. How could she have been so blind. They were expecting visitors, and not just any visitors. The King's court. Eyra had wondered for the longest time what Lady Stark would arrange for her if, or rather _when_ , their father left for King's Landing. And now the answer was glaring her right in the face.

 _Marriage._

She wondered briefly whether Lady Stark had already made arrangements with someone. Perhaps she had already promised Eyra away. No, Eyra decided. Her father would never agree to that, and Lady Stark knew it. She was probably hoping that Eyra would catch the eye of some Lord that very night, or a handsome knight, and be wooed off to faraway lands before summer properly set in.

Suddenly, Eyra felt the need to rip the offending fabric off her body and toss it into the roaring fireplace. Closing her eyes tightly, she took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. She carefully unclenched her fists, slowly let the breath out, and opened her eyes once more. Meeting her own gaze in the mirror, she gritted her teeth in vehement determination.

No, she decided as she stared at her reflection. She would wear the dress. Proudly. It was a nice piece of garment, probably the nicest thing she had ever owned. And she had been gifted it. Perhaps it would garner attention at the feast, perhaps not. Nevertheless, Eyra had no intention of being wooed away by anyone.


End file.
